


Here's some free advice (consider it a gift)

by waterbird13



Series: Writing our own Vows [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Loud Sex, M/M, Quiet Sex, Sam may have an eating disorder, but he's actually doing pretty well, discussion of death of significant other, living in the Batcave, married Winchesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterbird13/pseuds/waterbird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Kevin get fed up with how loud Sam and Dean are when they have sex. Sam and Dean find a way to work around this issue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here's some free advice (consider it a gift)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone--
> 
> Wow, this is the quickest turn-around between fics I've ever had. But I was pretty much just pumped to keep writing.
> 
> Alright, here there be explicit gay, incestuous sex (obviously). There is fluff, there is a certain level of unintentional voyeurism, there is a discussion about how everyone in this story has lost people they love, there is Sam and Dean's attempts at quiet sex, there are brief mentions of what may be considered an eating disorder that Sam may or may not have. Also, in this fic, Dean bottoms the entire time through. I think that's it.
> 
> Enjoy, all!

            Dean barely pulls the key out of the ignition before Sam has the driver-side door open.

            “Missed you,” Sam murmurs into Dean’s neck, already gripping him in a tight hug.

            Dean rolls his eyes and stands up so they’re hugging outside of the car instead of Sam crouching down like that and ruining his back. “I’ve only been gone since yesterday,” Dean grouses, but he just pulls Sam in tighter.

            “Yeah, well, not used to sleeping alone,” Sam admits.

            Dean wonders if Sam got any sleep at all the night before, because he knows for a fact that he didn’t. It wasn’t worth risking the nightmares when he knew Sam wasn’t there to hold him through it, and he bets it was the same for Sam.

            “Sorry, baby,” Dean says. “Next time you can come with me, okay? Sorry you got stuck doing research.” Sam had been supposed to come on the hunt with him and Garth, but the weird encounter with something they’d never heard of before had sent Sam scrambling back to the bunker and to the books. It’d been easy to find and easy to kill, so Sam hadn’t re-joined them on the hunt. And everything had run smoothly, but being apart from each other feels like missing a limb.

            Sam grunts. “Just glad you’re okay,” he murmurs against Dean’s hair.

            Dean chuckles. “Dude, you should’ve seen the thing. For something so big and ugly, it sure went down easy.”

            “Thank god,” Dean thinks he hears Sam mutter.

            Dean runs his hands soothingly across Sam’s back. “Hey, baby, everything’s okay,” he says. “Next time we won’t split up, alright?”

            “Sorry,” Sam says quietly. “You must think—I know I’m being clingy. Just don’t like you going out there alone.”

            “Not clingy, Sammy,” Dean says. “I wanted you there with me just as much as you wanted to be.”

            They stay there for a minute, pressed as close to each other as they physically can be while still wearing clothes, hands roaming over shirt-covered skin, proving to themselves that they are both still whole and safe.

            “Who’s home?” Dean finally asks, satisfied that Sam is still here and still whole.

            “Kevin and Cas,” Sam says. “Last I checked, they were both in the library.”

            Dean grins and pulls away from the hug. “Think they’d notice if we went up the back way?”

            Sam smiles back. “They’re both busy, don’t think they’d notice much of anything.”

            “Good,” Dean says. “Don’t wanna see them yet.” Sam gets the hint and practically drags Dean up the back set of stairs, leading him directly to their room. He closes the door behind them and then pushes Dean against it, hands roaming Dean’s chest, tugging a nipple through his t-shirt, teeth biting at Dean’s throat, leaving a series of little bites that he then soothes with his tongue.

            “Nugh…” Dean gasps, head falling back against the door.

            Sam tugs at Dean’s shirt, and Dean pulls away from the door to give Sam enough room to get it over his head. Immediately, Sam latches onto Dean’s left nipple, tugs at it with his teeth and then pulls back to lick at the pebbled peak, tracing with the very tip of his tongue.

            “ _Fuck_ ,” Dean groans. “Sammy, fucking _hell_ , don’t stop…” he pleads as Sam pulls back.

            “Not stopping,” Sam murmurs as he pulls at Dean’s pants, which Dean can totally get behind.

            Sam gets Dean naked and just stares for a second as if contemplating him, and Dean starts to squirm a bit under the scrutiny. “Wanna eat you out,” Sam announces suddenly.

            Dean can’t get over to the bed fast enough, crawling onto his hands and knees, ass in the air. Sam maybe had meant right there, against the door, but Dean knows for a fact that his knees will not hold his weight if Sam gets his tongue into his ass, so this is safer for both of them.

            He hears a zipper and turns his head to look. Sam has his shirts off already and is pushing his pants down. He feels his mouth go dry, feels some primal urge to bite and lick and mark that expanse of skin as _his_. Fuck, Sam is beautiful. He doesn’t like being called that, usually only accepts it when he’s so high on arousal that anything sounds good to him, but it’s true.

            Sam positions himself behind Dean on the bed, and sinks his teeth into Dean’s ass. Dean yelps, and Sam soothes the bite with a kiss, offering apology with a swipe of his tongue. But Dean doesn’t need the apology, knows just as well the desire to mark. What he does need is Sam to touch him, to really touch him. Then he wraps his big hands around Dean’s ass and pulls his cheeks apart, bringing his face closer and licking a stripe across Dean’s hole.

            “Fucking Christ!” Dean screams, and Sam picks up his pace, licking around Dean’s rim before making broad swipes across the hole with the flat of his tongue.

            Dean pushes back, trying to get Sam’s tongue where he really wants it. Sam, face still buried in Dean’s ass, chuckles, gripping Dean’s ass a little tighter, holding him still.

            “ _Sammy_ ,” Dean whines.

            Sam pulls back. “Yeah? What d’you want, Dean?”

            Dean whimpers, at a loss for words already, and Sam considers his desperation for a second.

            “Wanna know what I want?” Sam asks, and doesn’t wait for Dean to give any affirmation. Which is probably good, because Dean doesn’t think he’s capable of putting the words together. “I think I’m gonna open you on my tongue. You want that too?”

            Dean nods his head shakily, and Sam sets back in, pulling Dean even wider open, burying his face so far between Dean’s cheeks that his nose presses into Dean’s skin.

            “Christ,” Dean curses. “So fucking good, Sammy, please, please, more, god, fuck…”

            Sam teases for a moment longer before obliging him, pointing his tongue and driving it inside Dean, making Dean yell out. “Fuck! That’s it, Sammy, so good, so fucking good, thank Christ, fuck, more, _please_ ,” he moans, and Sam drives his tongue in as far as possible, making Dean see stars.

            The suddenly the soft heat of Sam’s tongue is gone, and Dean hears himself whimper and whine but can’t care enough to stop it. “Shh,” Sam soothes, one hand on Dean’s back while he reaches and fumbles around near the pillows. “Gimme a second, okay?”

            Dean grunts and practically collapses onto the bed, rubbing his dick against the sheets, desperate for friction.

            “Hey!” Sam says. “None of that. Want you to come when I’m inside you, Dean.”

            Dean moans at that and reluctantly pulls himself back up, pushing his ass out towards Sam when he hears the telltale snick of the bottle of lube opening.

            Sam pushes a finger into Dean without warning, crooking it and unerringly hitting Dean’s prostate. “FUCK,” Dean yells, and begins a steady string of profanity while Sam slowly takes him apart, first with one finger, then two, then, finally, a third.

            “In me, in me, in me, fucking get in me, Sammy,” Dean all but snarls by the time Sam slides the third finger in.

            Sam pulls his fingers out and Dean rocks backwards, following them until they slip out of his body. He whines until Sam pushes the head of his cock into Dean, and Dean rocks backwards before Sam can stop him, impaling himself on Sam.

            “Yesss…..” he hisses as Sam picks up a steady pace, long, hard rolls of his hips driving Dean crazy. “Fuck, Sammy, baby, feels so fucking good,” Dean moans.

            Sam leans down and kisses and bites at Dean’s shoulders, and Dean shivers, hopelessly awash in pleasure, moaning and whimpering. “Sammy,” he groans. “Sammy, ‘m close.”

            Sam grunts above him, shifts a hand from Dean’s hip to his cock, and it doesn’t take more than three strokes before Dean is coming, splattering across Sam’s hand, himself and the bedspread. Sam comes right after he does, the two of them collapsing onto the bed and riding the high of orgasm together.

            “Fuck me,” Dean mutters once he gets his breathing back.

            Sam chuckles beside him. “Already did.”

            Dean tries to swat Sam but can’t be bothered to find the energy to actually raise his hand. “That was good.”

            “Mhm,” Sam agrees. “Sleep?”

            Dean’s eyes are already closed. “Uh-huh,” he sleepily replies, and the two of them pass out, Dean covered in come, not even bothering to get under the blankets.

 

            Dean wakes alone the next morning, sticky and gross. He grumbles and pulls on what Sam has termed the “dead-guy robe” (it’s not like the guy actually died while wearing it, so it’s not quite as unsavory as Sam makes it sound) and grabs a quick shower before going down to breakfast.

            Kevin brushes passed him on his way out of the kitchen, and he gives Dean a look that he can’t interpret.

            “What’s with him?” he asks Sam, who’s sitting at the table with his tablet and a mug of coffee.

            “Kevin is pissed at us,” Sam says conversationally.

            Dean does a double-take. “What? Did we forget his birthday? Was I supposed to bring home souvenirs or something?”

            “Apparently,” Sam says, “he’s sick of listening to us have sex.”

            “He’s sick of _what_?” Dean asks, sure he’s heard wrong.

            Sam shrugs. “I guess we’re loud. And he says he’ll kill us if he has to spend one more night listening to you, and I quote, _moan like you’re in heat_. Cas apparently agrees with him.”

            “We’re not that loud,” Dean protests, but he doesn’t have to see Sam’s raised eyebrow to know that they are, in fact, that loud. That he screams loud enough to wake the dead and so does Sam. Dean cringes. “They’ve been listening to us have sex?”

            Sam nods. “Apparently they didn’t have much of a choice.”

            Dean digests that news over breakfast, thinks about everyone listening to them have sex. They’ve had sex on the side of the road where anyone who happened to drive by could catch a glimpse. They’ve had sex in motel rooms so loud they’ve been kicked out. They’ve blown each other in public bathrooms and done a million other things that would probably be seen as _exhibitionist_. But none of those people knew him and Sam from Adam, none had gotten to look at Sam after and known what he sounds like when he comes, known what he sounds like when he’s desperate and begging. Because that’s _theirs_ , and, damnit, he hates that other people know, even if it is their closest friends. Maybe especially if it is their closest friends.

            Dean spends his day underneath the hood of the Impala, giving her some TLC, because his baby deserves the best he can possibly give. Sam gets a call from Krissy right after breakfast and heads to the library to see what he can find for the kid, and he never re-emerges, so Dean assumes Krissy either needs more help than he thought or Sam got side-tracked by some books again. It’s probably the latter. Dean’ll probably get back inside later to find Sam shoulder-deep in stacks of books, researching some obscure thing Dean has never heard of for no other reason than that he got curious.

            Kevin comes out around one with a plate of sandwiches and leaves it on top of Dean’s toolbox before turning back out, but Dean stops him. “Kevin,” he says, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, probably smearing grease everywhere. “I, uh, wanna apologize. ‘Cause apparently, Sam an’ I, well. You know. That’s not fair to you guys. So—sorry.”

            Kevin nods and turns to walk away again before hesitating, turning back and plopping down on Dean’s toolbox, just missing upending the sandwiches. “We get it,” he offers. “I mean, you two are obviously happy together, just married and all that, it’s great. We’re happy for you. We’re not trying to rain on your parade.”

            “I know that,” Dean says.

            “It’s just…Cas lost that demon chick he was so into. And Channing…” he trails off, and Dean is embarrassed to admit that he practically forgot the girl Kevin had lost. “So we’re not on the happy sex bandwagon.”

            Dean raises an eyebrow. “Dude, I get it. I’m not into you guys listening to us anyways. But, uh…a demon killed a girlfriend of Sam’s, too. And he was a fucking mess, but he…eventually he moved on.”

            Kevin snorts. “Not all of us have our soulmate waiting in the wings.” Dean hates that word, hates how it sounds like some dumb teenage romance novel, but since God himself apparently made Sam and Dean actual soulmates, like two halves of one whole soulmates, he doesn’t argue it.

            “Yeah, well,” Dean says awkwardly. “Doesn’t hurt to look.”

            Kevin gives him a look. “I live in a secret underground bunker filled with books about killing things that aren’t supposed to exist, and sometimes I’m asked to translate a language no one but me can read.”

            “Look anyway,” Dean says. “You never know. Maybe there’s some really cool chick, one who will be good with all this.”

            “You think there’s a girl like that?”

            Dean’s throat tightens. “I do,” he says quietly, thinking of Lisa and her blind acceptance of him. Him and Lisa were never meant to be—he loved her, sure, but he had and always will love Sam more—but maybe Kevin will find his Lisa.

            He doesn’t share that with Kevin, but Kevin must see something in his face. “Maybe,” he says quietly. Then, after a brief pause, he says a bit louder, “that doesn’t mean I want to hear you have sex.”

            “Noted,” Dean says as he grabs a sandwich. Kevin leaves then, and Dean eats his sandwiches before getting back to his baby.

            Sam makes dinner, and they all eat together, which isn’t necessarily awkward, just quiet. Sam tells them all about Krissy’s hunt, how her and her gang of teenage hunters are going after some clawed, fanged thing, and Dean’s heart jumps into his throat. But he reminds himself that they are good hunters, great hunters, even. And, despite what he always thinks, they’re really not kids anymore. Plus, they have Sam’s awesome research backing them up, and a promise to call when it’s all over.

            Sam finishes talking about the kids and goes back to picking at his food, and soon enough Kevin and Cas clear their places and leave the two of them alone.

            Sam and Dean wash the dishes and clear the rest of the table before Dean digs the ice cream out of the back of the freezer—hidden behind frozen vegetables to keep it safe from grabby little housemates—and dishes out two bowls. He has a feeling that he’ll end up eating most of Sam’s, but he’s learnt to deal with that, and he watched Sam eat an entire plateful of food at dinner, so Sam not finishing his ice cream won’t be the biggest crisis in the world.

            They take their bowls and go to what used to be Sam’s bedroom but now just contains a couple couches and a TV, and Dean puts in a movie. Sam finishes his ice cream—he eats about half, Dean is impressed—and slides down the couch, resting his head in Dean’s lap as the movie plays on. Dean absently runs one hand through Sam’s hair.

            The movie finishes an hour later and Dean moves Sam off of his lap and takes their bowls back to the kitchen. Sam follows him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist while Dean washes the bowls clean. Sam presses gentle open-mouth kisses onto the side of Dean’s throat.

            “Sam,” Dean admonishes quietly. “We’re supposed to be careful…Kevin and Cas,” he groans softly as Sam moves to the particularly sensitive spot behind his ear.

            Sam chuckles, the warm air across Dean’s skin making him shiver. “Promise to leave our pants on, Dean,” he says. “And they’re both in their rooms. Just us here, Dean, relax.”

            Dean finishes with the bowls and sets them on the drying rack with slightly shaky hands. “Bedroom,” he grunts, and Sam follows him down the hall willingly enough.

            Sam closes the door behind them and presses Dean against it.

            “Sam,” Dean whines softly. “Not here, they’ll definitely be able to fucking hear us…”

            Sam’s grin is absolutely awful. “Better keep yourself quiet then,” he says, pulling at Dean’s pants.

            “Me?” Dean asks. “What about _you?”_

            Sam shrugs and pushes Dean’s jeans around his knees, where Dean kicks them the rest of the way down and then off. “Hard to talk around a mouthful of dick,” Sam says as he drops to his knees, and before Dean can respond to that comment, Sam has the head of Dean’s cock in his mouth and all Dean wants to do is shout. Instead, he bites his fist, moans and grunts muffled around his own hand.

            Sam wraps his big hands around Dean’s hips and pulls Dean forward, pressing him deeper inside Sam’s mouth. Sam relaxes his jaw and Dean takes the hint, fucks shallowly in and out of Sam’s mouth.

            Sam pulls back and frowns up at Dean. “Don’t have to be so careful,” he says.

            Dean pulls his hand out of his mouth. “You sure, Sammy?”

            Sam grins now. “Gimme what you got,” he says, and then he takes Dean’s cock back into his mouth.

            Dean bites his lip to stop a shout and bites his knuckles once more before beginning to fuck Sam’s mouth in earnest. He’s going to have some serious bruises on his knuckles tomorrow, but at this moment, Dean can’t bring himself to care. All he cares about is Sam’s hot, wet mouth around him, the vibrations from Sam’s moans, and the ever-approaching feeling of orgasm.

            Dean takes his free hand and uses it to gently push at Sam’s head, and Sam gets the hint, pulling off Dean’s dick with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lower lip to Dean’s cock.

            “Fuck, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, “don’t wanna come yet, want you in me.”

            Sam nods, his expression _wrecked_ , lips swollen and spit-shiny, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. “Yeah, Dean,” he says, voice hoarse. “Whatever you want.”

            Dean pulls his shirt over his head and then tugs Sam to his feet, helping him take his clothes off. Once they’re both naked, Dean steers them towards the bed, pushing aggressively, turned on past the point of being gentle. “C’mon, Sammy,” he whines.

            Sam chuckles. “Patience, Dean,” he says, grabbing Dean around the shoulders and kissing him, hard, bruising, biting kisses that cause Dean to whimper. But it doesn’t matter, because Sam’s mouth swallows Dean’s noises.

            Eventually, Sam pushes Dean down onto the bed. Dean goes sprawling, gracelessly spread across the bed. He watches Sam as Sam moves around the bed, grabbing the lube before coming to settle in between Dean’s spread legs.

            “Ready?” Sam asks quietly as he spreads lube over his fingers.

            Dean spreads himself a little wider in response, and Sam grins at him.

            When Sam slides the first finger in, Dean lets out a low moan that has Sam reaching up his body to slap a hand over his mouth. “Shhh,” Sam teases. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to hear.”

            Sam’s hand gentles over his mouth, until it’s just a few fingers across his lips, more of a reminder than an enforcement. Dean sucks the fingers into his mouth, licking the webbing between Sam’s fingers and sucking on the digits. He pays particular attention to the ring finger, tracing the wedding band with the tip of his tongue, the metallic taste mixed with the taste of Sam.

            “Fuck, Dean,” Sam murmurs, voice strained. Sam pulls his finger out of Dean’s hole and slides two back in, and Dean is writhing on the bed, filled from both ends, so completely and totally focused on Sam, Sam in him, around him.

            When Sam slips a third finger in alongside the other two, Dean starts thrashing, so absolutely full of Sam and still needing something more. He tries to voice his complaints, to demand that Sam stop screwing around and fuck him now, but his mouth is occupied.

            Sam eventually gets the hint  anyway, pulls his fingers out and pushes his cock in instead. Dean tries to scream his pleasure, the sound muffled around Sam’s fingers, still in his mouth.

            All the finesse Dean mustered earlier is gone. He’s not even really sucking on Sam’s fingers anymore, more like slobbering on them, screaming against them, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind.

            Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist, tilts his hips up a bit more, pushing back against Sam, driving Sam deeper into him. The new angle ensures that Sam’s cock brushes Dean’s prostate on every stroke, and Dean whimpers around Sam’s fingers. He fists the sheets, gripping so tight he thinks he may rip them, and his body shakes and spasms as Sam continues to pound into him.

            Dean looks at Sam’s face to find him biting his lip, eyes wide and staring right back at Dean. They keep eye contact, which is why Dean jumps a bit when Sam’s big, warm hand wraps around Dean’s dick without warning, matching the rhythm of Sam’s thrusts, and Dean just moans louder around Sam’s fingers, the sound muffled and indistinct, but Sam gets the message and grins, releasing his lower lip from between his teeth.

            “Gonna come for me, Dean?” he asks, voice no more than a low whisper. “Gonna come with my fingers in your mouth and my cock in your ass?”

            It’s hot, to hear Sam’s usual filthy words, but to hear them low, whispered like that. They sound even dirtier, and Dean whimpers, arches his back, changing the angle so Sam’s cock hits his prostate _just_ so, and he comes, screams muffled by Sam’s fingers.

            Sam comes right after Dean, using the hand covered in Dean’s come to muffle his own shout, painting his lips and chin with come.

            Sam collapses and rolls to the side, pulling his fingers from Dean’s mouth, trailing the spit-covered digits down Dean’s jaw, his throat, and his collarbones, settling possessively on his chest, leaving a slick, shiny trail of Dean’s spit in his wake. Dean watches with rapt attention as Sam licks his lips, sticks his tongue out as far as he can get it to get the come on his chin. When he can’t get it all, he raises his still come-covered hand to his mouth and licks that clean before using it to gather up what’s left on his face.

            “Fuck, Sammy,” Dean rasps. “That’s so fucking hot.”

            Sam grins and drags a finger across Dean’s stomach, offering the come-covered finger to Dean. Dean looks at it dubiously but takes it between his lips, sucking it clean. It’s not the first time he’s tasted his own come, not the first time by a long shot, and, while he’s never really liked it, anything that makes Sam make a breathy little whimpering noise—the _I’m too fucked out to come again but I wish I could_ noise—is good in Dean’s book.

            They lie there for a minute, the remaining come cooling on Dean’s stomach and between his thighs, Sam’s hand resting over his heart as they get their breath back.

            Finally, Sam pushes himself up to a sitting position, hand still gently resting on Dean’s chest, and asks, “you wanna shower, or you just want me to go get a cloth?”

            Dean sits up and gets out of bed, takes a second to ensure his legs will support him after a fucking like that, and grabs his robe, which is enough of an answer for Sam, who pulls on a pair of sweats, and the two of them walk to the bathroom, thankfully not running into anyone on the way.

            The bunker shower is definitely on Dean’s list of top five favorite things about the Bunker, just behind having their own bedroom and having such an awesome garage, and just ahead of having their own kitchen. The shower is big, big enough for two big guys to shower together or fuck around, whichever they decide to do that day. And the water stays hot for as long as they want it to, so he and Sam can take their time. Which is exactly what they do, carefully soaping each other up and rinsing each other off. Dean washes Sam’s hair, making Sam sigh and relax even further. Sam returns the favor, taking a moment to rub at Dean’s scalp before running his hands lower and digging his thumbs into the back of Dean’s neck, massaging there for a few minutes.

            “Gonna get pruny,” Dean eventually murmurs, so Sam shuts the water and they get out and dry each other off, wrapping each other in fluffy towels that Dean had bought right after they first moved in. It feels about a thousand times better than any motel towel ever has.

            They throw their clothes back on and go back to their room, shucking the robe and the sweats as soon as the door is closed again. They get in bed, Sam spooning behind Dean, their legs twined together, hands clasped on Dean’s stomach.

            “So,” Sam says against Dean’s ear, “was thinkin’, tomorrow, you an’ I could go to the basement. ‘Cause those rooms are really far away, right? And they won’t be able to hear us, all the way up here. Like, the garage. That’s pretty far away. How about you and I lock off the garage, and you fuck me over the hood of the Impala, loud as we want?”

            Dean groans, and, even though he knows there’s no way he’s getting hard again, his body makes a valiant effort. Dean falls asleep thinking about it, because while it was hot as hell being quiet like that, sometimes, he just needs to hear Sam scream.


End file.
